


A Mutual Study of Affairs

by FuckBenedict



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:19:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuckBenedict/pseuds/FuckBenedict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>honestly i spent a long time hating this chapter and trying to change things before i gave up and just made it super short and its like 3 paragraphs dont touch me just ugh here shut up</p>
<p>thank you to everyone that helped review, edit, etc, y'all are lovely</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Disciple

Sherlock sat sprawled in his armchair, shoes kicked off carelessly, hair a mess from the wind which had whipped through it as if _trying_ to ruin the effort he’d put into styling it. He stared blankly at the ceiling, mind racing as it instinctively catalogued the case he’d only just returned from. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, fingers twitching as he recounted the events prior; as mundane as most cases the Yard called him for, but he hadn’t anything better to do than mentally run it through.

After minutes of absolute silence and stillness, the detective abruptly swept to his feet, moving to the kitchen and making a cup of tea with effortless, habitually practiced motions. He hadn’t seen John in weeks; Sherlock was rather dismayed with his decision to continue living with Mary, though he hadn’t expected any other outcome. Still, he couldn’t help the slight feeling of rejection at being alone once more.  He leaned against the counter, sipping his tea with an air of impatience, as though the very activity bored him; which, of course, it did – what didn’t? Curling his long fingers around the edge of the counter, he pushed himself up onto it, perching precariously on the edge of the sink. He pulled his phone from his shirt pocket, turning it once in his hand before unlocking it and finding “John” in his contacts in the same practiced motion with which he made tea.

_Are you busy tonight?_ he typed before changing his mind and erasing the message. He didn’t want to come off as desperate.

_Dinner at Angelo’s?_ he tapped out instead, then once more decided against it and attacked the back key with his thumb. The detective gave thought to the fact that John might take his offer the wrong way, sighing and placing his phone on the counter next to him. He took another sip of his tea, losing himself in thought a moment before the doorbell nearly startled him into the sink. Hastily setting down his mug in an ungraceful and decidedly un-Sherlock way, he slid to the ground and padded down the stairs toward the door. It wasn’t Lestrade; Sherlock would have recognized the sound of the vehicle. In fact, he hadn’t even heard a vehicle pull up. Most likely client who had arrived on foot, then. Probably here with some tedious case that could be solved by a kindergartener. Or even Scotland Yard.

He paused a moment to run his fingers through his hair before flinging the door open, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the visitor. She had one hand frozen inches from the doorbell, hastily withdrawing it as the door was opened. In one arm she held a book – a journal. Her long brown hair was meticulously straightened and her makeup redone twice – trying to impress someone? He hardly gave thought to the fact that it could be _him_ she was trying to impress before he glanced at her outfit and shoes, realizing there was nobody else she was seeing that day. His eyes narrowed momentarily in confusion rather than suspicion as he glanced her over again; why would she dress up to come ask for his help? Not a client, in any case - the air of hurriedness was lacking from her demeanor, though in its place was something Sherlock could not quite identify.

Breaking the silence, and consequently the detective’s chain of deductions, the girl spoke.

“H-hi” she stammered, then drew a shaky breath, gaining her composure. “Hi” she repeated, sounding more sure of herself this time.

“You’re not here for a case, and you’re not looking for an interview, so what exactly do you need? “ Sherlock asked with a slight frown, being frustrated at his own inability to deduce said reasoning himself.

She spoke without evidence of the previous confidence she had mustered. “Well see, I, well, it might sound rather presumptuous, but, I-“

Picking up on her nervousness despite himself, he interrupted her. “I’d prefer if we spoke upstairs, the wind is going to wreak havoc on my hair again” He stepped back, opening the door to allow her inside and gesturing for her to follow him up the stairs. She obliged, her heels clicking mutedly with each step. Sherlock sat down heavily in his chair once more, waving a hand at the chair opposite him and watching as she sat carefully, folding her hands around the journal they clutched. 

Neither spoke for a few moments, Sherlock merely letting his gaze lazily drift up and down the girl,  making her squirm uncomfortably in her seat.  Finally he broke the silence. “You’re here to replace my blogger” he stated blankly, eyes wandering back to hers and holding her gaze.

“Well, not replace, per se, but, ah, rather, substitute in his absence… I suppose… yes” she confirmed her statement with a curse nod, sitting a little straighter as she struggled to hold Sherlock’s eye. The detective regarded her carefully, considering her precisely put-together outfit and the possessive way with which she held the book between her hands. He nodded toward the book; “What is the significance in a journal when attempting to become a… blogger?”

The girl looked down to it as if surprised that it had been mentioned, turning it in her hands. “Well, it’s, er, not significant to that” she admitted sheepishly. “I just, em, hoped you could, maybe, if it’s not too much trouble… teachmehowyoudoyourdeductions” she finished in a rushed tone, as if regretting her words before they’d even left her mouth. Sherlock nodded thoughtfully, mulling the idea over in his head.  “I do need an assistant on cases” he muttered, thinking out loud. “more importantly, one who doesn’t think they’re an expert”

The girl gave a shy smile at that. “Well, Mr Holmes, I can assure you I’m no expert. Though of course, you already knew that, or you wouldn’t have said it. I mean… I… yea.” she trailed off, cheeks flushing pink. She pressed her lips together as if to prevent herself from speaking again, at which Sherlock gave a slight smirk. “Yes. In any case, I believe that, on a trial basis at least, you could accompany me on my cases”

The girl’s eyes widened, her hands trembling against the book. “Y-you mean I can… come with you?” she asked breathlessly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes; having to repeat himself truly was one of his biggest irritators. “Yes. For now”

She started to reply with a thank you but was cut off by the detective. “I have work to do at the moment, but research to conduct tomorrow at St Bart’s if you wish to assist”

Nodding before the sentence was completed, the girl stood, turned to leave, then whirled back around suddenly. “I almost forgot – would you, er, title this?”

She held out her journal to him, blushing once more.

“Title… ?” Sherlock echoed uncomprehendingly. The girl nodded. “Like, you know, how you have it on your blog – the science of deduction. It-it kind of sounds silly I suppose, but, er, I wondered if you would write that, on, you know, the title page” – she opened the journal and gestured to the blank first page.

Sherlock tilted his head slightly, still not quite grasping the sentiment but retrieving a pen from the desk behind him and scrawling “The Science of Deduction, S. Holmes” in tidy handwriting on the page she offered.

Beaming, she closed the book and clutched it to her chest. “Thank you”

The detective merely nodded in response, then gestured toward the door. She gave a slight jump, having forgotten she was supposed to be leaving, then started down the stairs. At the bottom, hand resting on the door handle, she turned back and called “By the way, my name is Allison. If, er, you care” before stepping out into the cold and shutting the door with a _click._

Sherlock hadn’t time to assure her that he did indeed care before she was gone, heels clicking softly down the pavement as she caught her breath.


	2. Reverie

Allison unlocked the door to her flat, ignoring her flatmate’s obligatory “hello” and placing her journal on the kitchen table. She headed straight for her room, whereupon she collapsed backward on her bed with a dramatic _oomph._

She stared up at the ceiling for a moment before covering her face with her hands, letting out a muffled squeal. Her excitement for having been accepted by Sherlock in any manner was uncontainable; she’d been following his cases since months before Reichenbach, and attempting to track him down ever since. News of his suicide and subsequent return had only furthered her awe of his genius; she had never been convinced by the tabloids saying he was a fake. When she’d heard of his return, she knew the detective would be overwhelmed with attention, especially with John’s wedding so soon – his blog of course kept her updated of that – so she kept a respectable distance. Because of her love for the man – or perhaps despite it – she knew it was appropriate to give him privacy.

Allison had been waiting years to meet the man, and now not only was she acquainted with him but was permitted to _assist him._

She didn’t even have words for the exhilaration she felt, nor did she know how to deal with it, so she entertained herself for the time being by creating a new blog dedicated to her pending study of Sherlock:

_The Nature of Deduction_.

**xxx**

Sherlock Holmes had never been one to grow attached to people, and this was no different with Allison. However, he had to admit, there was a certain quality about her he did like, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it – which troubled him to no end. Perhaps it was the way she remained articulate despite her stammering and nerves. Perhaps it was her ability to be in awe of him yet recognize his humanity. Perhaps it was simply her respect for him, unbridled in a way he’d never experienced before. Whatever the case was, he knew it wasn’t an attachment, merely less disapproval than usual.

Though he had to admit that he did enjoy the pleasure she took in his approval.

**xxx**

Scotland Yard, was, as per usual, mystified and alarmed. A body had been found in the driver’s seat of a BMW abandoned outside of St Bart’s with obvious signs of drowning, which was unsettling enough in itself, but what was much more unsettling was the note within the victim’s – dry – jacket pocket:

_I knew you did._

_xoxo, JM_

Lestrade rubbed his temples, closing his eyes as Donovan continued protesting the idea of calling Sherlock.

“He’s solved dozens of cases for us, he’s the one that dealt with Moriarty before, and you and I both know he’s the only one who can help us”

“We have a dozen others itching to investigate; let them! We don’t need Sherlock Holmes!”

“Sorry, I guess I didn’t get the memo – when exactly were you promoted to detective inspector?” he asked sarcastically, standing and reaching for his phone as he ushered her impatiently out of his office.

_“Yes?”_ came the expectant voice of the detective.

“We need you”

_“Of course you do. I’m rather busy, can’t you sort just one thing out on your own? Surely you’re capable of that”_

“Sherlock, this is serious”

_“You said that last week about the maid murders”_

“Ok, well, this is more serious. Moriarty’s at work.

… Sherlock?”

_“I’ll be at the station in half an hour_ ”

**xxx**

Sherlock hung up his phone, tossing it onto the couch. Suddenly, he jumped up from his position in his chair, whirling around. “ _Yesss”_ he celebrated quietly, not willing to admit aloud how much he’d missed Moriarty’s genius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly i spent a long time hating this chapter and trying to change things before i gave up and just made it super short and its like 3 paragraphs dont touch me just ugh here shut up
> 
> thank you to everyone that helped review, edit, etc, y'all are lovely

**Author's Note:**

> don't kill me I ain't no writer and this is my first fic


End file.
